


With your head upon my shoulder

by Owl_by_Night



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Post-Coital Cuddling, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 12:24:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10786707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owl_by_Night/pseuds/Owl_by_Night
Summary: Merlin is prone to post-sex affection.  Grant adjusts.





	With your head upon my shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt on the JSAMN kink meme:
> 
> My headcanon about Strange is that he's a sprawler and a cuddler after sex, (basically a happy sleepy octopus); Grant is not used to this sort of postcoital behaviour, for obvious reasons to do with military life, but is surprised to discover how much he likes it when he gets the chance. 
> 
> ... basically I am craving a warm happy fic where the two of them get to stay in bed and enjoy the afterglow, and there's a lot of physical affection.

The first time they have sex, Merlin falls asleep afterwards with his head settled warm against Grant's shoulder. Grant excuses it on the grounds that the magician has not been sleeping well and busy working to Wellington's demands. Demands which as an officer Grant cannot call unreasonable but must admit are exacting and arduous. The man must be tired. Grant does not mind it particularly: Merlin is warm at least and his hair is soft against Grant's skin.   
  
The second time, Grant wonders if Merlin is simply unaware of the usual etiquette. He is married after all. Perhaps he thinks all bed partners should be treated like his wife. A military man does not linger over the endings of such things. A military man should be more efficient. Get the job done to mutual satisfaction and then make your excuses. Still, Merlin is not military man and Grant cannot find the words to tell him that he is breaking an unwritten rule. "You should not embrace me," sounds beyond foolish. "You should leave," sounds rude. Merlin sighs in his sleep and gathers Grant closer to him, an encroaching tangle of limbs.   
  
The third time, Grant finds himself wanting to laugh. Merlin, with one leg thrown over Grant's thighs and the other hooked around his ankle, his arms around Grant's shoulders and his face pressed into the crook of Grant's neck, is doing an excellent impression of one of the many-limbed sea creatures that Grant has had to politely eat while based near the coast. At least, he thinks, this is far more pleasant. Feeling unusually affectionate he allows himself to touch Strange's hair, pushing it away from his face, feeling it tangle with his fingers. It can do no harm. Merlin is asleep and will not know.   
  
The fourth time he is shocked to find himself missing it. They had only a short time before Merlin was sent out to move a church, but he had given Grant that look of his, vulnerable and wanting and also a little humorous, asking without words. A hurried affair, both of them fumbling their way to release with barely time to undress, but when Merlin had risen and dressed immediately afterward, Grant had felt bereft.   
  
The feeling follows him, putting him in a sour mood all day. It lingers until Merlin returns, dusty but triumphant, and embraces him without any kind of excuse at all. "I was sorry to leave you so soon," he says, holding Grant fast to him in a way that nobody has ever done since he was a boy: both of them still dressed, Merlin not even attempting to kiss him, just holding him tight and close and pressing his face against Grant's red jacket. He smells of dust and warm skin and the bridge of his nose is sunburnt. Finding his own grasp of the etiquette lacking, Grant kisses him, and that is the beginning of the fifth time.   
  
Afterwards Grant allows himself to tug Merlin closer to him. Merlin sighs with contentment and goes willingly, curling himself around Grant's back and wrapping his arms around him so that Grant is surrounded. "I had almost thought you were made of stone," Merlin says softly, "I am glad to to be wrong." This time both of them sleep.   
  
After the eighth time, Grant splits a bottle of brandy with De Lancey and makes vague enquiries. De Lancey laughs himself breathless and calls him an idiot. He says a few insightful things about relationships between men, using very coarse language, and fetches another bottle. In the morning Grant wakes with a thumping headache, the urge to never look his Lordship in the eye again, and a rather warm feeling under his rib cage. This is Merlin's fault, he thinks, and the thought makes the warm feeling grow.   
  
The ninth time it is Grant who goes to Merlin. He kisses him and cradles the side of Merlin's face as he does so. Merlin's eyes shut as Grant traces the line of his cheek bone with his thumb. This is a very different thing to a quick encounter with a fellow soldier and going to him, knowing it, is like waiting for the first shots of a battle to be fired. Merlin is unbearably tender with him.   
  
Afterwards Merlin falls asleep with his head lying warm on Grant's shoulder again. Grant holds him there, stroking the soft skin of his back. He kisses the top of Merlin's head where his hair tickles against Grant's chin. It is a luxury in a war where luxuries are often sparse. Merlin stirs a little, resettling himself closer to Grant's body. He makes a content sound and Grant finds himself smiling for no good reason at all.


End file.
